


Goodbye Stranger

by whalefairyfandom12



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-22 19:56:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7452019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalefairyfandom12/pseuds/whalefairyfandom12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Lester has always felt uncomfortable in his own skin. Making friends doesn’t come easily, and his sexuality is a giant question mark he doesn’t want to answer. Attending a summer camp is the last thing he wants to do, but it’s there he meets the lively, perceptive Dan Howell, who might prove him wrong in more ways than one. As the years go by the two continue their correspondence and become best friends. But some mistakes are irreparable, and Phil is forced to confront the consequences of his actions and decide what it is, exactly, that Dan means to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Loving Someone

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve wanted to write a fic with ace!Phil for ages, but I’ve struggled with writing/talking about my sexuality for a long time. Then I realized that’s precisely why I needed to write something about asexuality. This is purely one person’s thoughts/feeling/experiences, and by no means speaks for everyone. (feat. cameos from fellow phan trash–gotta catch ‘em all) 
> 
> Eventual trigger warnings for the following: acephobia, homophobia, bi/panphobia, sexual content, dubious/non consent, depression, anxiety, self-harm, suicide/suicidal thoughts

**Part One: Loving Someone**

Holding up the status quo instead of showing your kids  
That they matter, who’re you gonna batter next?  
Just keep hold of their necks and keep selling them sex  
It’s better if we keep them perplexed  
It’s better if we make them want the opposite sex

- _Loving Someone_ , the 1975

 

* * *

 

_Asexual_

_/āˈsekSH(əw)əl/_

_noun: asexual; plural noun: asexuals_

_a person who has no sexual feelings or desires._

At three years old Phil is oblivious. Four seems old and like a long ways away, and anything beyond that is as good as dead in his opinion. He’s too little to start school, but his parents have set up playdates with everyone from his little cousin to the twins in the house across the street.

Mary is the granddaughter of his dad’s boss, and the sort of toddler that’s curious, assertive, and more observant than anyone gives her credit for. As an occasional favor Mary will come over for a playdate with Phil, and usually the afternoon results in a game of house or a tea party.

This visit is no different. Mary barely steps through the door before she’s opening her backpack and pulling out a well worn tea set. She sets it up on Phil’s bed, arranging his stuffed animals in circle. He sits across from her, crossing his legs and dutifully picking up one of the tea cups. He doesn’t mind playing tea–not as much as he minds playing house at least.

Mary sticks out her pinky, lifting the cup to her lips and taking a sip. “Mm, this is yummy.” The cup clatters against the saucer as she sets it down, looking at Phil expectantly.

He pretends to pick up a biscuit, smearing it with butter. “Yum,” he echoes.

Mary picks up the teapot, biting her lip in concentration as she refills the tiger’s cup. “Here you go Mr. Tiger.”

“Tigger,” Phil corrects. He’d seen _Winnie - the - Pooh_ a few months ago and consequently had named almost all of his animals after characters in the hundred acre wood.

“Mr. Tigger,” Mary says, patting the animal on the head. The two continue in this fashion for the rest of the afternoon, drinking tea and eating biscuits and asking Owl whether he prefers butter or jam.

The party is broken by his dad’s arrival and the following announcement. “Mary’s grandmother is here.”

Ms. Werstenfeld trails behind his father, smiling lightly in Phil’s direction. With the same blue eyes and unruly brown hair as her granddaughter, the resemblance is uncanny. “Did you have fun?”

“Yep!” Mary nods enthusiastically, stumbling to her feet and beginning to jump on the bed. The teapot tumbles over, lid popping off and imaginary tea spilling out. “We sat on Phil’s bed and jumped up and down and played tea party!”

“Give them a few years and sitting isn’t all they’re going to be doing on beds,” Ms. Werstenfeld murmurs. It’s not a comment he or Mary are meant to hear, but they do.

“Why not?” Mary asks, blinking up at her grandmother innocently.

The adults laugh, Phil’s father going so far as to ruffle her hair. “Because you’ll want to do something more. It happens to all of us kiddo, you’ll see.” Mary nods solemnly, understanding registering in her gaze. Phil is lost, brow furrowing he peers up at the faces all around him, trying to decipher the implications behind their exchange.

Before he can figure it out, Ms. Werstenfeld’s shuffling Mary down the stairs, leaving him alone in the darkening room. “Bye Phil!” she shouts.

“Bye Mary,” he calls after her. He frowns into the silence, biting at the nail on his thumb. Parents are confusing, and girls are too. His dad said that everyone will want to do more than just sit on beds, and he wonders what it’s mean if sitting on beds is all you ever want to do.

Phil yawns, rubbing his eyes as he collapses back on his bed. Thinking about this is making his head hurt, and as the smell of chocolate chip cookies begins to drift up the stairs, thoughts of girls and anything else are quickly pushed aside.

 

* * *

 

School isn’t as big and scary as Phil expects it to be. The older kids seem like giants and he misses his blanket, but he’s made a few friends and he likes coloring. PJ Liguori was one of the first friends he made, a camaraderie formed through a mutual hate of tag and love of Pokemon.

PJ invites Phil to his house on the last day of school, and after lengthy conversations between their parents he’s allowed to go. The two wait by the main entrance after the final bell rings, Phil’s lion tucked securely under his arm.

“Ready?” PJ asks. Phil follows his eyes to a bright blue Prius parked by the curb. A friendly looking woman with bright green eyes sits in the driver’s seat, waving cheerily.

“Hey honey. How was school?”

“Okay,” PJ says, sliding into the backseat. “Alfie copied my drawing in art.” His lips fall into a pout, arms crossing.

“Aw, I’m sorry. They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery,” she says with a sympathetic smile. Phil’s brow furrows at words like ‘sincerest’ and ‘flattery,’ but her eyes fall on him and the subject is quickly changed. “You’re Phil I’m assuming?”

He nods. “Nice to meet you Mrs. Liguori,” he says politely, just like he’s been taught.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” PJ’s mum says. “I’ve heard a lot about you. You can call me Meg.”

“Is MK home?” PJ asks.

“She had to work late at the hospital tonight, but she should be back after dinner.”

“MK?” Phil questions.

“Mummy Kate,” PJ explains. “My other mum.”

Phil’s eyes go as wide as saucers. “Oh,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. He has one mum and one dad, and he figured everyone else did too. “You don’t have a dad?”

PJ shakes his head. “Nope. Two mums.”

“Cool,” Phil says. “Do you wish you had a dad?”

Meg glances in the rear view mirror, looking concerned and as if she was curious to hear what PJ’s answer would be, too. “No,” the boy says, shaking his head. “Do you wish you had another mum?”

Phil thinks about it. He loves his parents, and even though they fight a lot more than they used to he wouldn’t want to trade either of them. “No.” A yellow BMW passes in the other lane and Phil punches PJ on the arm. “Punch buggy no punch back!” PJ rubs his arm, punching Phil back anyway.

“Cheater!” Phil squirms as far away as the seatbelt will let him, giggling. “That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” PJ quotes, dodging another attack with a laugh. Their impromptu fight is quickly brought to a halt, as Meg interjects that the car is far too small a space to listen to them shouting.

They call it a truce until they arrive at PJ’s house, racing up the driveway to see who can reach the front door fastest. Phil loses by a slim margin, and lugs both his and PJ’s backpacks inside and up the stairs. The house is warm, large windows in each room and a fireplace in the living room. There’s a picture on the mantle of PJ, Meg, and another woman he guesses is Kate. He stares at it until PJ drags him into his bedroom.

The room is an explosion of PJ’s brain. Totoro’s are scattered in various locations, a lava lamp sitting on his desk and colored lights lining the windows and the space above his bed. An overflowing bookshelf is shoved in the corner, figurines from different video games guarding the volumes of _Harry Potter_. Phil gently places his lion on the edge of the desk, dumping the two backpacks on the ground unceremoniously.

“I like your room,” he says.

“I like it too,” PJ agrees. “Mario Kart?”

“Mario Kart,” Phil repeats. The duo thud back down the stairs and into the living room, where PJ throws him one of the controllers and loads the game. Phil wins this time, and he doesn’t hesitate to rub it in PJ’s face.

 

“Peej?” Phil rolls over in his sleeping bag, peering up at his friend’s blurry silhouette. “Are you still awake?”

“No.”

Phil considers whacking him with his pillow, but PJ’s just out of reach and he’s too tired to move. “Can I ask you a question? Another one,” he adds hastily.

“What?”

“Could someone have two dads?”

PJ is quiet for a moment. “I think so,” he says uncertainly.

Phil’s not sure why he asked, but it’s a question that had been nagging at his brain since meeting Meg. “Oh. Okay.” A breath, then “And that wouldn’t be weird, right?”

“No,” PJ says decisively.

“Good,” Phil says softly. He doesn’t know why it matters or why he cares, but hearing PJ’s affirmation makes everything seem that much better. He rolls over, nestling deeper under his sleeping bag and closing his eyes. His dreams are filled with the color purple, stars, and a boy with golden brown eyes.

 

* * *

 

Phil is eight, and the girl next door with the sunshine yellow hair has asked if she can kiss him. He blinks at her uncomprehendingly, ice cream forgotten and dripping down the side of its cone. Kissing is something his parents do when they’ve had too much to drink, an act that always leaves his dad crying and mum disappearing for days on end. It’s what you see in movies, eyes closing and lips locking and every kid in the audience turning their heads and squealing _eww_.

“You want me to _snog_ you?” he asks, voice an octave higher and not nearly as suave as he wishes. He coughs, straightening his shoulders and trying to look as though snogging people was something he did all the time. Truth is, it’s nothing he really wants to try. The whole thing sounds gross, and he can’t figure out why anyone would ever want to do it.

“Yes,” she nods.

“Why?” It’s hardly the most elegant response he could’ve given, but his brain is panicking.

She shrugs, giggling a little. “Why not?”

“It's…” Phil sticks his tongue out, pulling the most horrific face he can.

The girl looks offended, planting her hands on her hips and making a face of her own in response. “Meanie.”

“I’m not a meanie!” Phil says, voice rising in volume.

“Are you chicken?” she taunts, eyes widening as she clucks her tongue. “Phil’s chiiiiiiiicken.”

“I’m not chicken,” Phil insists. He crosses his arms, stamping his foot and immediately feeling ridiculous. In some ways it might be worth it just to get rid of her, but he really doesn’t want to and he’s heard that your first kiss should be something special.

“You wish,” she says. She’s starting to get bored–he can tell in the shift of her eyes from his face to the pavement. Phil stays silent, hoping she’ll get bored and leave him in peace to finish his chapter of _The Secrets of Droon_. His hopes come to pass, thankfully. “Whatever, I guess. Bye.”

Not three hours later he finds her snogging Colin Headley behind the swing set, so he guesses it worked out for both of them.

 

* * *

 

Anna Collins has bright red hair and combat boots that look like they could stomp the life out of anyone who dares cross her. Surprisingly, she’s the only new student Phil’s class had gotten this year, and as such most of the drama centered around her. She didn’t shy away from the attention, on the contrary she seemed to thrive on it. Phil had been content with his admittedly small friend group of Chris and PJ, but with the arrival of Anna it wasn’t just going to be the three of them anymore.

The change started that Monday. Chris and PJ were wrapped up in a conversation about the newest Pokemon, oblivious to the arrival of Anna at the end of their table. Her tray lands with a dull thud, eyebrows raising in a smirk. Phil forces himself to relax, trying to seem as at ease as possible.

“Hey.” Anna’s voice is deeper than most of the girl’s in his class, something husky drawing most of the boys in like flies.

“Uh…” Chris’s cheeks are bright red, and he looks for all the world as if he’d like to disappear. “Hi. What’s up?”

Anna shrugs. “Not much.” She turns her eyes on Phil, something in them softening. Or maybe it’s just his imagination. “I’m Anna.”

Phil’s pretty sure there’s no one in the whole of the school who doesn’t know who she is, but he doesn’t say anything. “Phil. That’s Chris and PJ.” He’s kind of surprised that Anna chose their table to sit with on her first day. They’re not the kids everyone makes fun of, but they’re hardly the most popular or well liked.

“Cool.” Anna’s legs swing underneath the table, converse tapping.

“What are those?” PJ asks curiously. He taps his left arm in demonstration, chin jerking towards the countless bands going up and down her wrists.

“The different colors mean different things,” Anna says. “You have to break them, though.”

“What does the black one mean?” Chris asks.

“Something,” Anna says vaguely. Her gaze slides to her left, where George is moving his pineapple around in its cup. They move back towards Phil before locking on PJ.

“Something?” Chris repeats. “Wow. That’s–that’s real clear.”

“Here.” Anna pulls off one of the black brackets, holding out to PJ. “Pull it.” PJ’s eyes widen, looking like a deer in the headlights as he gingerly grips the other side and pulls. The band snaps, lying useless in Anna’s hand. “We’re dating now,” she says matter - of - factly.

PJ looks a breath away from falling over. “What?”

“That’s what it means when you break a black one.”

Chris echoes PJ’s reaction. “What?”

Phil frowns. This bracelet stuff seems off to him. He can’t imagine why you’d ever date someone just because a black piece of plastic said so. “Congratulations?” he says, the statement sounding more like a question than anything.

“Thanks,” PJ says.

“Don’t worry,” Anna assures him. “I’m breaking up with you now.” She smiles, the expression warm and making her face light up. “It’s not you–it’s me.”

Phil laughs, PJ looking like he’d just dodged a bullet. Anna looks satisfied, and without further ado precedes to steal the cookie from his plate.

 

* * *

 

“Truth or dare?” Chris’s grandparents are the owners of a camp by the waterfront, and to celebrate the end of school he had invited a few of their classmates to spend the night. Somehow George had roped them into playing truth or dare, and Chris decided to make Phil the subject of the next turn.

“Truth,” Phil says, because he’s a wimp and doesn’t trust Chris to give him a dare that doesn’t involve stripping and running naked down the beach.

“Who’s the hottest girl in our class?”

Phil rolls his eyes, trying to play off his unease at the question. “Seriously? That’s what you waste a question on?”

“Fine. Who do you have a crush on?” Chris leans forward in anticipation for his answer, an action that’s mirrored by several in the circle.

“Nobody,” Phil says, knowing the reaction his response will precipitate before the words leave his mouth.

“Fuck off,” Chris snorts. “Come on, no one likes a cheater. Tell the truth.”

The thing is, Phil _is_ telling the truth. He doesn’t know why no one will believe him. There’s only one way to solve this that he can think of, and that’s by lying. He wracks his brains, going down a list of everyone he’s ever spoken to. Any of the boys are automatically ruled out; the last thing he needs his classmates to find out about are his possibly homoromantic tendencies. Ella’s out, they’ve been friends for ages and that would just make things awkward. He’s pretty sure Violet likes him, so she’s not an option. Finally, he lands on Anna. Perfect, he thinks. Anna’s attractive and plenty of people have confessed to liking her. Plus, he thinks she wouldn’t kick his ass if she ever found out about this.

“Well,” he begins, drawing the word out.

“Oh?” Chris raises a questioning eyebrow from beside him.

“There might be someone.” He pauses, taking a deep breath to further the effect. Maybe he should become an actor. “Anna.”

“I knew it!” Chris says triumphantly. “You were staring at her in maths the other day.”

Phil shrugs, smiling slightly. He silently thanks the Power of Suggestion, which in his experience can do anything, even alter memories. “Do you think she likes me?” he asks because it seems like the right thing to say.

PJ joins the conversation for the first time, exhaling through his teeth. He shoots Phil a sympathetic look, eyes green and wide. “I don’t know, mate. Ben was hitting on her the other day and she seemed pretty into it. But Ben’s a dick,” he adds hastily at whatever bullshit, crestfallen expression Phil’s sporting. “Don’t give up.”

“Thanks,” Phil says. “I didn’t expect you to go all ‘Life Coach’ on me.” He swivels in his seat, facing George. “Truth or dare?” he asks before anyone else can offer their relationship advice.

“Dare,” George says immediately.

“I dare you to throw Chris in the lake,” Phil says, biting back his smile as Chris scrambles to his feet and starts to run. George is faster, though, and Chris’s shouts of protest make Charlie’s soda come out of his nose.

The two stumble back towards the circle a few moments later, Chris soaking wet. He kicks off his trainers, pulling off a sock and throwing it at Phil. “I hate you.”

Phil dodges it easily. “Sure.” Chris grumbles a bit longer before asking PJ whether he wants truth or dare. The game continues, and even though Phil has to sing the duck song at the top of his lungs at least he avoids any more questions about crushes.

 

* * *

 

Fall symbolizes a lot of things: trees dying, the leaves changing color, and the return to school. Phil has taken to spending most his free time at PJ’s house, partly for the homework help and mostly to get away from the fighting. It seems like that’s all his parents ever do, and it’s hardly his favorite thing to be around.

The last few months have kind of sucked, and he thanks whatever deity exists that PJ is his friend. He’s not sure what he did to deserve a friend like him, but there’s a good chance he’d be even worse off without him.

PJ sprints up the hill, holding up his English test. The 76% is marked in red pen and clearly visible, and he holds it high above his head. “Ladies and gentlemen!” he shouts with mock grandeur. “It is now autumn and everything is falling. Leaves, the temperature, and now my grades!”

Phil brandishes his own test, yelling his agreement. In the grand scheme of things an 85 is hardly anything to complain about, but he’d spent seven hours studying and given his previous scores it’s discouraging. PJ tosses his bag down the hill before rolling down with a whoop.

He nearly crashes into Phil, and from the too wide grin he flashes it’s hard to believe it wasn’t somewhat intentional. With another grand gesture, PJ grips his test and tears the paper neatly in two. He rips it again, and again, and again until little slips of paper flutter to the ground. “Hey look, confetti,” he says.

“Won’t your parents want to see your test?” Phil asks.

PJ shrugs, grinning widely. “I’ll tell them they can see it if they’re willing to look for it.”

Phil shakes his head, smiling despite himself. Before he can rethink his decision, he rips his own test into pieces and scatters them in the wind. “Fuck school,” he says. And maybe he should be more concerned about what he’s going to say when his parents ask about his test, but fuck them too.

“That’s the spirit,” PJ says, thumping him on the back. “Do you want to start a fire? I have a few math worksheets we can burn.”

“Sure. Can put my hopes and dreams in there too?”

He’s only being half sarcastic and the joke isn’t even that funny, but PJ laughs anyway.

 

* * *

 

 

Phil practices the words in his head, repeating them over and over again as a sort of mantra: _Do you want to dance? Do you want to dance? Do you want to dance?_ He glances at the girl, Lily, sitting a few chairs down, hair shining against her back. Phil swallows, palms sweaty and shaking. People ask each other out all the time, he reasons. None of them have rolled over and died yet. Five words, that’s all it takes. Five words.

Lily Winters is Phil’s first crush. It’s a weird feeling to actually like someone, and he can’t say it feels like he was missing out on much. The space between sleep and awake is spent thinking of her, and wondering what it would be like to hold her hand. They’d been put into a class together at the beginning of the year, and traded flirtations and text messages throughout the year.

He’d thought he was being subtle with his pining, but PJ had informed him that that hadn’t been the case in the slightest. Apparently his staring wasn’t as infrequent as he’d hoped, and the blushing and nervous laughter were more obvious than they’d seemed at the time. Needless to say, Phil couldn’t hide his feelings for shit.

PJ had encouraged him to ask her to dance, arguing that it was only one song and what did he have to lose? It was close enough to break that if she turned him down he’d have the summer to sulk about it and hopefully move on. Phil normally avoided dances like the plague, but he couldn’t ask Lily to dance without going to the dance so here he is. The sacrifices he makes for love.

He opens his mouth, flattening his palms against the hem of his shirt. There is a pause between the songs, and then _A Thousand Years_ starts playing. The perfect first dance song. Everything’s coming up Lester, he thinks. Until Chris steps in his way, that is.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” Phil says. “I erm, have to go do a thing, but I’ll be right back so…”

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Uh–”

Chris’s eyes flicker from him to Lily to back again, far more perceptive than he would’ve liked. “Do you want me to ask?”

“Ask what?” Phil asks stupidly.

“Ask her out for you.”

His first instinct is to refuse, because he doesn’t exactly trust Chris’s finesse in all of This and he’s always wondered why people beg their friends to ask someone out in their stead. Now he thinks he understands. While he and Lily are friends, Chris and Lily are even better friends so maybe she’d be more willing to hear him out. Pushing aside any feelings of guilt or cowardice, he nods.

Chris claps him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.” He makes his way towards Lily, tapping her on the shoulder Phil bites his thumbnail, and even though he’s straining he can’t hear their exchange. Anticipation and a small sliver of hope fizzle out when Chris turns his back a few moments later and starts back in Phil’s direction.

“Sorry mate,” Chris shakes his head. “Said she wanted to wait until college or something like that.”

Which is bullshit. Lily’s already dated half the boys in their year, waiting until college is a grave already dug. “Yeah okay,” Phil shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “Thanks for trying I guess.” He forces out a grin, relieved when Chris ditches him for Anna. He exhales shakily, eyes pressing closed in an attempt to regain some sense of control.

She had said no. Rejection hurts, but Phil had felt worse. It hasn’t killed anyone yet, and it won’t finish him now. Besides, he has the entirety of the summer to hide.

 

* * *

 

 

Dan Howell has brown hair, dimples, and golden brown eyes that light up brighter than any star. He’s twelve–the same age as Phil, and has a sense of humor that’s as sarcastic as it is self-deprecating. Phil’s plans for the summer hadn’t been anything more than gaming, watching Netflix, trying not to think about Lily, and avoiding anything social or physically active. His mum had had other ideas, though, and so he found himself stranded at some shitty camp for developing leadership skills or something like that.

The camp is somewhere off in the ‘wilderness,’ an attempt to make it’s campers feel “one with the earth.” Phil hates it already. “Two weeks,” he mutters under his breath, linking his thumbs under the straps of his backpack and adjusting it higher on his shoulders. “Fourteen days.” He moves towards one of the picnic tables, sitting down and laying his head on the damaged wood. One of the counselor’s is doing roll call, shouting names over the conversation and marking them down.

The bench shakes as someone sits beside him, a thump rattling his skull as a backpack is thrown on the table. “Hello stranger. Having fun yet?”

Phil rolls his eyes far enough back he’s afraid they’re going to pop out of his skull. “Come here often?” he asks, sarcasm clipping his words.

“Yeah, actually. But you’re new. I’ve been stuck here long enough that I can tell.” The newcomer is a boy around his age, a goofy smile filling out his face and making the gold in his eyes stand out. Like fire.

“I’m Phil.”

“Dan.” Dan is wearing all black, dark skinny jeans that cling to his knees and a black t-shirt with an even darker skull on the front. Phil can’t help but be impressed that the boy hasn’t died of heatstroke yet.

“How old are you?” Phil asks curiously.

“Twelve. You?”

“Same.” He runs a hand through his hair, fixing his fringe. It’s an unconscious action, and one that he’s sure only makes his hair look worse. “Where do you live?”

“Wokingham. My uncle lives a few minutes away and my parents ditch me here over the summer.” Dan shrugs. “Where do you live?”

“Rawtenstall.” A silence descends over the duo, and Phil searches for something more to say. “Any tips?” he asks lamely. There was a reason why his original summer plans had avoided socialization.

Thankfully, Dan didn’t seem too fazed by his awkwardness. “You want to bunk together? Usually they assign the cabins randomly, but…” He reaches into his backpack, pulling out a notebook and a pen. “What’s your last name?”

“Lester,” Phil says, thrown.

“And your mum’s name?””

“Heather.”

“ _I would like my son, Phil Lester, to please share a room with his friend Dan Howell. This is his first time away from home and he has anxiety in new situations,_ ” Dan mutters under his breath, reading the words aloud as he writes them. “ _Thank you, Heather Lester._ ” He looks up, grinning at his masterpiece. “How does that sound?”

“Great,” Phil says, inspecting the note. A smile rises to his mouth, bright at the idea of having a friend and someone to spend the next fourteen days with. “It’s all true too. How is your handwriting so neat?”

“Usually it’s not,” Dan says. “But this isn’t the first time I’ve had to forge a letter. My ‘mum handwriting’ is better than my mum’s.”

“You think it’ll work?” Phil asks, skepticism raising an eyebrow.

“Bet you an ice cream,” Dan says challengingly.

“Deal,”

“Philip Lester!”

Phil tugs the paper out of Dan’s hands, starting towards the counselor. “If this doesn’t work it’s your fault. Here!” He hands the note to the counselor, crossing his fingers that she buys it. He crosses his feet too, just to make sure.

(She does, and during dinner Dan waves his spoon in Phil’s face with a smug smile, ice cream dripping down the sides.)

 

* * *

 

 

The cabins are at the far end of the camp, each bedroom housing a bunk bed and sharing a bathroom with five other bedrooms. The bedrooms are small, but Phil has a feeling he won’t be spending much time in his room anyway.

“I call top bunk!” Dan races past him towards the bed, scaling the ladder and throwing his bag down triumphantly.

Phil scowls, dropping his duffel on the lower bed. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do. You’re the worst person in the world.” Phil rolls onto his back, kicking the mattress above him. Dan yelps, and a few seconds later his face appears from the side of his bed, disheveled and upside down.

“What was–” Before he can finish Phil grabs his arm, pulling hard. Dan topples down from the side of the railing, landing half on Phil’s bed and half on the floor. The boy groans, rubbing his head with an expression that looked like he’d been struck by lightning.

Phil rolls off of his bed and pins him to the floor, grinning widely. “Still want the top bunk?”

“Fuck you,” Dan grumbles. The following laugh robs any bite from his words, and he lashes out with his elbow. Phil catches the blow, straddling his stomach and pressing his limbs to the ground.

“Fine!” Dan says, pushing Phil off. “You can have the top.”

Phil nods, feeling incredibly satisfied. “I’d like that written in blood, please.”

“After dinner. I’m too hungry to write.” Dan raises an eyebrow. “Race you there?” Before he can answer he takes off running, the door slamming behind him. Phil sprints after him, leaves crunching underfoot as he stumbles into the dining hall. He ‘excuse me’ and ‘sorrys’ his way past the other campers and emerges mostly unscathed. Dan is already sitting at one of the tables, cheeks bright red. He’s trying (and failing) to look as though he’s not at all winded, giving Phil a cheeky wave.

“I forgot how out of shape I am,” Phil gripes, sliding on the bench next to him.

“Same,” Dan agrees. He reaches for the bread sitting in the middle of the table, spreading half the butter on top. “You want to get in line yet?”

Phil glances over at the buffet. The current line stretches further than he can see, past the doors and outside. “I’m going to wait,” he says. “Don’t want to start this week by dying.”

“That’d be bad,” Dan agrees. He holds up a finger, fishing around in his pocket and emerging with his phone “What’s your number?” His thumbs fly across his screen and he hands his phone to Phil a few seconds later. Phil returns the device, contact complete with a god awful selfie. “I’ll send you a text so you have my number.”

Phil’s phone vibrates, and with a fond huff of an exhale he unlocks it and reads it. _hey_

He types an equally eloquent reply: _**Hello stranger**_

_what’s up?_

_**The ceiling. It looks like it’s going to fall and kill us** _

_that sounds bad_

_**Just a little. Are we going to text for the rest of camp?** _

_who needs friends irl anyway?_

_**I know right?**_ Phil looks up, meeting Dan’s gaze. The boy is staring at his phone with a concentrated frown, bottom lip sucked between his teeth. Phil sends a final message before putting his phone away. _**But life is meaningless without hearing the sound of your voice :p**_

Dan laughs, rolling his eyes and shoving his phone in his pocket. “What’s your favorite movie?” he asks; an abrupt change of subject but an interesting one all the same.

“I don’t know,” Phil answers slowly. “I don’t watch a lot of movies.”

“Why not?”

He shrugs. “I don’t like most of them. They’re all the same. What’s your favorite movie?”

“ _How to Train Your Dragon_ ,” Dan says unabashedly. “The books are good, too.”

“I read a few of those,” Phil says. He omits the part about having a crush on Hiccup when he first saw the film. “I think I like the movie better, though. Toothless is my favorite.”

“Same. Have you see _Rise of the Guardians_?”

Phil nods. Animated movies and being a nerd, these are Things he can do with ease. “Have you heard of something called The Big Four?”

Dan’s brow furrows, a crease forming between his eyes. “That’s the thing with Hiccup, Jack, Rapunzel, and Merida right?”

“Yeah.”

“I think it’s a cool idea. I’ve seen some stuff about that.”

“Do you ship Merricup?” Phil’s aware that he’s going deeper into the rabbit hole, but he figures at least Dan knows what he’s getting into.

“Kind of,” Dan says. “I like Frostcup better, but Merricup is still good. Did you see the video to _Catch My Breath_?”

“I think so, it’s definitely a good song for the Big Four. I wish I was good at editing videos,” Phil says wistfully. He’s edited photos and slideshows before, but nothing close to what he’d like to be able to do someday. “Do you like to read?”

“Yeah. _Harry Potter’s_ still one of the best, though.”

“What house are you?”

“Ravenclaw. You?”

“Me too.” Dan smiles, and Phil suddenly feels grateful for meeting him. Out of all the possible campers he could’ve met he was glad it was Dan. Though he knows it’s cliched and stupid, he can’t help but think that Dan’s the sort of friend he’ll have long after fourteen days are over.

 

* * *

 

 

Following dinner there’s always some mandatory physical activity that reminds Phil once again why he doesn’t do sports. Capture the Flag is the selection for the day, and after being picked last he begs to be put on guard duty. He figures he can avoid the most amount of running that way, and the faster people can catch any would - be - thieves.

Dan is on the opposing team, and from the moment their eyes lock across the field it’s _game on_. Phil shifts from foot to foot, eyes scanning his surroundings. The first few sprinters had crossed into enemy territory, but most of them had already been captured. Dan hovers on the other side of the line, gaze narrowed in concentration.

Capture the Flag was one of those games that he’d spent too many free times playing. His classmates had always wanted to play a round, but somehow he never seemed to get any better at it.

A shout echoes from beside Phil. A girl with dark brown hair is racing towards the flag, dodging her pursuers with alarming ease. Phil takes off running, shoes skidding against the gravel as he makes a sharp turn. He taps her on the shoulder just as she turns the final corner. The withering glare she gives him as she stomps off to prison is only to be expected, and does nothing to dampen his feeling of pride.

He returns to his position at the flag, high fiving Penny, one of the other guards. Maybe he wasn’t as bad at this physical stuff as he’d thought. Maybe he could manage not to completely embarrass himself. Maybe–

“Phil!” Penny yells in warning.

“Hello stranger.”

While Phil had been busy congratulating himself, Dan had taken advantage of his lapse in attention and slipped past the defenses. Phil berates himself, scowling and shaking his head. Then again, maybe he is just as bad as he’d thought. “Hello Dan.”

“Long time no see.” Dan crouches over, knees bending and hand wandering towards the flag; a sweatshirt Joseph had dug out of his suitcase. He holds a hand over his eyes, squinting out into the distance with what’s clearly meant to be a dignified expression. His chest puffs out, and he nearly topples over.

“What are you doing?” Phil asks with no small degree of amusement.

“I’m pretending I’m an explorer stealing treasure,” Dan explains. “It’s getting into the zone.”

“Getting your head in the game?”

“Exactly. Like roleplaying. You can be my sidekick if you want.”

“Wow,” Phil deadpans. “Thanks.”

“You can be the Toothless to my Hiccup,” Dan offers, the words sounding half sincere and half sarcastic.

“I think I’d rather be Merida,” Phil says. “That way I can shoot you when you try to run.”

“That’s when I send Toothless to light you on fire.” Dan moves in a quick series of movements. His hand darts down and grabs the flag, and without further ado he tears down the field.

Phil charges after, arms flailing as he tries to stay upright. The cheering starts a few meters from the finish line, Dan’s teammates shouting words of encouragement while Phil’s team runs for all they’re worth. Phil puts on a final boost of speed, forcing his limbs to move _fasterfasterfasteralmostjustafewmoresteps_ as the gap between the two of them closes.

His tap is more of a tackle, because Phil trips over his own shadow at the last moment; sending him flying. Dan’s eyes are wide with alarm, and the flag falls to the ground as they drop and roll. Phil ends up on top, straddling Dan’s chest triumphantly. He tosses the flag to his waiting teammates.

“Eat me Howell,” he crows.

Dan struggles, pushing him off with an irritated oomphing sound. “Too bitter,” he mutters. “Sarcasm never tastes good.”

Phil scrambles upright, holding out his hand and hauling the other boy to his feet. “Good thing I’ve got my super strength and good looks then,” he says, adding another layer of sarcasm just for Dan.

“Yeah. Right.”

Phil bumps him with his shoulder. “Shut up.”

Dan runs a hand through his hair, and Phil notes with amusement that the ends have started to curl like a hobbit. “Not that we’ve been paying attention, but I think your team just won.”

Phil turns to see Curtis holding a red jacket aloft, sprinting a victory lap around the edges of the field. He wishes he could say he’d made honorable sacrifices that enabled their victory, but that would be a lie. “I think you’re right.”

“When aren’t I?”

“…Do you really want me to answer that?”

“Shut up.”

 

* * *

 

 

The days pass by in a comfortable rhythm. Phil wakes up, races Dan to breakfast, goes with his group for some team building assignment, breaks for lunch and some free time, before an elective, dinner, a game, and bed. Lights are out by nine, but he rarely goes to sleep until a few hours later.

Most of the time the two will stay buried under their blankets and talk. The conversation ranges from school to world domination to Hogwarts houses, and Phil learns that Dan’s favorite color is green and that he wants to be an animator at Dreamworks someday. Dan promises to get him front row seats at a premiere if he ever becomes famous.

Phil tells him that his favorite color’s purple, and that he’s always wanted to be a writer. In exchange for the premiere tickets, he vows to send Dan a signed copy of his first novel.

On some nights, they’ll slip down the hallway and through the door. There’s a porch swing hanging by the stairs, and even though it creaks loudly enough to wake up people in Canada they sit on it anyway. Dan names as many constellations as he can, and tells Phil the mythology behind them. Phil makes up his own and explains the stories. They usually involve ketchup, alpacas, and the color yellow.

It’s easy to talk to Dan–far easier than Phil ever thought socialization could be. Even with PJ there’s a fear of being too much, of saying the wrong things and losing his friendship. It’s not like that with Dan. Sometimes a sentence will slip out before Phil can even finish thinking it through, but Dan always smiles and rolls with it.

It’s only been a few days, but Dan is quickly becoming his best friend. For all the resistance Phil had given to coming to camp, he was going to miss it more than he’d ever imagined.

They’d decided to venture outside tonight, and the stars are brilliant and look close enough to touch. Dan’s head is tipped backwards, mouth parted and the moonlight casting a shadow on his cheekbones. Phil tends to use this word sparingly, but Dan is nothing short of beautiful.

“See those stars there?” Dan follows Phil’s finger, gesturing towards a group of stars over his left shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“That’s a very rare constellation called the–uh, the Mystozylian Cluster.”

Phil can hear the laugh in Dan’s voice. “If you say so.”

“Once upon a time there were these yellow flowers, and everyone wanted to try them. It was forbidden, though, and the penalty was torture and an eternity in hell if anyone was caught. They were rumored to taste like chicken, but there was an alpaca named Zale who had to find out for himself. So he managed to sneak past the guards, because who could suspect an innocent alpaca?”

“Not me.”

“Yeah, me neither. So Zale finally finds the flowers, and this is the whole moment his life has been leading up to, right? So he finds the flowers and he picks one with his teeth and chows down. They don’t taste like chicken though. They taste like gone bad ketchup, and it’s so disgusting that Zale throws up. By this point, the guards have realized their mistake and barged in. But they see him laying in a pool of his own puke and feel bad for him, so instead of a life in hell they chain Zale and the flowers to the stars so that no one else will make the same mistake again. The end.” Phil ends his story with a dramatic half bow, and that feeling of satisfaction that only comes from telling a story (even a really shit one.)

“If you tried to steal yellow flowers I’d be your lookout,” Dan says.

“If you started puking I’d find the nearest river and collect every last drop of water,” Phil says in response. This is a game they play sometimes; inventing scenarios and declaring the lengths they would go to for each other.

Dan is silent for a moment. His lips are pursued, head tilted to the side in contemplation. “If you went to hell I would come rescue you,” he says softly. “I’d fight anyone who tried to stop me.”

A warmth floods Phil’s chest and brings a smile to his lips. “If you were chained to the stars I’d steal the key and come save you. Angels couldn’t stand in my way.”

“I won’t forget you said that, you know,” Dan says.

“Good.” Phil’s shoes scuff against the wooden floor, pushing the swing higher. The chain groans and complains, but if he closes his eyes he can pretend he’s flying.

“Where do you want to live someday?” Dan asks. His leg is pressed against Phil’s, and is a radiating a pleasant heat.

“I’ve always wanted to live in London,” Phil answers. “It’s closer to Hogwarts. You?”

“I have too. Maybe we’ll share a flat someday.”

They’d swapped promises to stay in contact after camp ended, to stay friends, but it was something else entirely to talk about a distant future together. “We’ve almost survived two weeks without killing each other, flatmates would be nothing.”

“I can’t cook without burning something,” Dan says warningly.

“I steal people’s cereal,” Phil counters. “And I can’t either.”

“If you steal my cereal I’ll kill you.”

“What happened to walking through hell for me?”

“You have to be dead first,” Dan says. His arm shifts to the back of the swing, Phil’s head resting on his forearm.

“Do you really think we’ll still be friends?” Phil asks. He tries to keep the skepticism out of his voice, but he doesn’t think it works very well. He’s done this countless times, met new people, promised to text, and never seen them again. With Dan, he doesn’t want it to be that way.

“Of course,” Dan says confidently. “I’ll be annoying you for a long, long, time.”

“You don’t annoy me.” Such an idea is, in fact, ludicrous. A breeze gusts through the air, sending a shiver down Phil’s spine and his fringe in his eyes. “Want to go back inside? I don’t really want to become a Philsicle.”

“Sure.” Dan untangles his limbs, and Phil immediately misses the warmth. He pulls the door open, stomping his feet. The heat gradually begins to return, and he heads for their room.

Thankfully, they’d made it back undetected, and exhilarated whispers are traded as Dan and Phil climb into their respective beds. Phil’s heart is alive and pumping, and he feels like he could storm Hell if he fancied. It’s the kind of thrill that can only come from doing something with your friends you’re not supposed to and not being caught. It’s the sense of being an Adventurer, of staking new ground, trying new things, and feeling like you belong.

And it’s to these feelings that Phil drifts off into sleep, the faintest traces of a smile lingering on his face.


	2. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phil Lester has always felt uncomfortable in his own skin. Making friends doesn’t come easily, and his sexuality is a giant question mark he doesn’t want to answer. Attending a summer camp is the last thing he wants to do, but it’s there he meets the lively, perceptive Dan Howell, who might prove him wrong in more ways than one. As the years go by the two continue their correspondence and become best friends. But some mistakes are irreparable, and Phil is forced to confront the consequences of his actions and decide what it is, exactly, that Dan means to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally this was part of the next chapter, but it was getting too long so I split it up. I should probably also take this time to promise that no on dies and everything will be okay in the end. (Free unicorn to the person who guesses who Rosemary is inspired by.)
> 
> Trigger Warnings: acephobia, homophobia, bi/panphobia, sexual content, dubious/non consent, depression, anxiety, self-harm, suicide/suicidal thoughts

**Part Two: Home**

Man, oh, man, you’re my best friend  
I scream it to the nothingness  
There ain’t nothing that I need  
Well, hot and heavy pumpkin pie  
Chocolate candy, Jesus Christ  
Ain’t nothing please me more than you

Home, let me come home  
Home is wherever I’m with you  
Home, let me come home  
Home is wherever I’m with you

- _Home_ , Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros

* * *

_Asexual_  


_/āˈsekSH(əw)əl/_

_noun: asexual; plural noun: asexuals_

  1. _a person who has no sexual feelings or desires._  




     Two weeks go by suspiciously fast. Before Phil can blink he’s packing up and waiting for the bus to bring him home. Packing is significantly harder than he remembers. Part of it (most of it) is that his mum isn’t around to help him, but Phil’s also trying to pack more than he came with. He’s amassed an impressive amount of stuff, ranging from a rock Dan insisted was a meteorite to the t - shirt the counselors had given all of the campers.

     There’s a space on the back of the shirt for signatures and messages, and most of the final day is spent running around trying to collect as many names as possible. Phil’s made a few friends; there’s a girl in his archery group named Sarah who he quite likes, but none of them have stuck in the same that Dan has. By the time Phil’s gathered what he deems a sufficient amount of signatures, there are only a few hours left before the end.

    Dan and Phil find each other on the docks. It isn’t an encounter that had been planned, but neither is surprised to see the other there. Phil kicks his trainers off, dangling his feet in the water. Dan follows suit, their shoulders pressing together as they sit in silence. If their fingers brush too, well, that’s nothing anyone has to know.

    Phil glances at Dan, soaking in as many of features as he can. He’s not sure when they’ll see each again, and the time to get his fill is running out. Dan turns his head, locking eyes with Phil. Neither of them look away, and the space between their bodies is an electric current, alive and pulsing. Dan’s expression is unreadable, but Phil thinks he can detect a hint of melancholy.

    He kind of hates cliches, but if he didn’t he would say it feels like the end of (an admittedly short) era.

    They sit in silence for the rest of the morning, broken only by the lap of the water against the dock. When shouts echo through the camp that the buses are here Dan pulls Phil to his feet, his touch lingering. Phil swallows, hard. His eyes feel suspiciously prickly, a stinging pain as he forces a smile.

     He pulls Dan into a hug, resting his head on the boy’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Dan smells like sunshine, a sort of warmth that reminds Phil of apple pie and the color yellow.

    “Text me sometime,” Phil mumbles. “Don’t be a twat.”

    Dan laughs. “Says you.” He steps back, hands still resting on Phil’s shoulders. “I will.”

    “Thank you,” Phil says, the sentence escaping before he can trap it.

    “For what?”

    “For being my friend.”

    “Of course you idiot. Thank you.”

    Phil’s name catches his attention, and he shoots a glance towards the busses. His uncle is standing on the crest of the hill, eyes scanning the crowds. His heart sinks despite himself. The goodbye was inevitable, but he had always been one for foolish hope.

    “I have to go, my uncle’s here.” On impulse he crushes Dan in a final hug, releasing him and hating the letting go. “Goodbye.”

    Dan’s smile is sad; one of the saddest things Phil’s ever seen and he thinks he can feel something breaking in two. “Goodbye stranger.”

* * *

    Something about this school year is different than the last. Maybe it’s that Phil and his classmates are thirteen now, and everything’s about girls and jobs and mood swings. Or maybe it’s that none of his friends are Dan, and Phil really fucking misses him.

    Everything seems different. Henry, George, Charlie, and even Chris and PJ are acting off. Phil’s not sure if he’s imagining things, but when he tries to comment on their newest conversation topic (the Eurovision Song Contest) no one responds. He tries again later with the same results, before giving up and listening in silence. Eventually he moves tables, sitting with Anna and a few of her friends. He can’t quite shake the feeling of wrongness, though, because it’s PJ and they’ve been friends for ages.

    Two weeks into the new year and his parents have a fight louder and longer than any they’ve had before. It had started over something trivial, his mum had picked up the wrong brand of creamer at the store, but before long it had escalated into a shouting match of ‘everything I do is wrong to you, isn’t it?’ and ‘you’re full of bullshit sometimes I wonder why I haven’t left yet’ and ‘why don’t you then?’

    Phil inches out of the kitchen, palms sweaty and shaking. Neither of his parents see him leave, and after turning the corner he sprints up the stairs. His chest burns, and his hands won’t stop shaking. He presses the palm of his hand to his chest, pressing everything back together as if that’ll stop the hurt. A few more steps and he’s falling, his bed the only thing left to catch him. The fighting is nothing new, but it’s never gotten any easier.

    He remembers the first time his mum left. He doesn’t remember much from his earlier childhood, but that’s nothing he’s going to forget anytime soon. She’d stormed out of the house without a glance backwards, and his dad had punched the bathroom mirror until it shattered.

    Phil had hid under his bed until his dad found him and explained that he and mummy still loved him very much, but that they were taking a break from each other. His mum had returned a few days later with an apologetic smile and a new stuffed animal for Phil. She’d promised that she was never going to leave him again, and he had believed her.

   Needless to say, it hadn’t lasted long. It’s only a matter of time before she vanishes for good, and nothing Phil can do will stop her.

    He picks up his phone, PJ’s contact open before his brain catches up. Normally PJ would be the first person Phil would talk to, one of the only people who can calm him down when his head feels ready to explode. Then he remembers that he’s not sure whether he and PJ are on speaking terms, and the panic knocks the wind out of his chest and leaves him lightheaded and gasping for air.

    He texts the only other person he can think of. **_Hey_**

    Dan’s answer is immediate. _what’s up?_

**_Can I talk to you about something?_ **

_of course!_

**My parents are fighting and I’m afraid mum’s going to leave again and PJ isn’t talking to me and I don’t know what to do.** Phil’s afraid he’s rambling and that none of his words make sense, but he can’t manage to string together sentences that make any more sense and his head hurts a Lot and he part of him thinks he’s dying and another part thinks that wouldn’t be so bad.

_do your parents fight a lot?_

**_Yeah_ **

_i’m sorry you have to listen to that, i wish i could give you a hug. you said your mum’s left before, but she’s always come back right?_

**_But someday she won’t. And it’s my fault I can’t do anything to stop her_ **

_nothing’s your fault. she still loves you even if she’s fighting with your dad_

**_Everyone’s leaving no matter what I do_ **

_i’m not_

**_Promise?_ **

**_promise. never. and if pj’s smart he’ll come around. you’re a good friend_ **

     Phil takes a shuddering breath, feeling his heartbeat slowly begin to return to normal. His cheeks are damp, and he rubs his eyes furiously. Dan’s not going to leave him, he thinks Phil’s a good friend, and his mum loves him. For now, he’s regained enough control over his emotions that he can shove them back into the box.

**_Thank you. Sorry to complain_ **

_you don’t have to be sorry, i’m always here if you want to talk about anything_

**_I might be a good friend, but you’re the best._ **

_:)_

* * *

    Anna hits the end of her spoon against her lunchbox, tapping out a beat. She points dramatically to Phil. “Starring Phil fucking Lester on the drums.” Interpreting the action as his cue, Phil flips his empty cup upside down and starts smacking it for all he’s worth. Anna gestures to the brown haired girl sitting beside him. “The Badass Lia Turner on the flute.” Lia pursues her lips, blowing over the top of her empty pop bottle. “Both accompanied by Anna, the Bitchiest–”

    “Anna Collins! We have a zero tolerance policy for language like that, and the volume at your table needs to come down to a one.”

    Anna stops mid speech, looking up guilty at the glaring face of Mr. Harrison. “Sorry. It won’t happen again.” Phil and Lia are quick to state their agreement, and apparently pacified Mr. Harrison wanders off in search of new students to terrorize.

    “Fuck you,” Anna mutters once he’s out of earshot. “And your fucking stupid rules about ‘inside voices.’” Phil’s pretty sure he snorts his milk out of his nose at that one. He can feel PJ’s eyes on the back of his head, but he pretends he’s oblivious.

    “He can’t handle how awesome we sound,” Phil says. “He’s probably jealous of my mad drum playing.” He launched into a mock drum solo, feet tapping to the beat as an elaborate flourish almost knocks his water bottle over. He’s gratified with a quick laugh from Lia.

     “Probably,” Anna agrees. “I know I am.” Lia nudges her, leaning down to whisper something in her ear. Anna giggles, looking highly amused and whispers something in response.

    Phil pokes at his pasta, finding it strangely unappetizing. He listens to the conversation next to him, but it’s something about the cutest boy in their class which is a subject he wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole. The only crush he’d ever had was on Lily, and despite his attempts to get over her he still has it bad. Lily aside, he had nothing against the idea of dating a boy someday, but that wasn’t anything he wanted to talk about now or ever.

    He chances a look at PJ’s table. Chris, PJ, and Henry are engaged in an avid discussion about something, and part of Phil would give anything to be in on it too. He likes Anna, and Lia’s been friendly enough, but there’s a rhythm to their friendship that he can’t seem to find. At either table he feels like an outsider, and he can’t think of any way to possibly rectify the situation.

    He finds himself wishing that Dan was here, before remembering he’s still a loser and there’s a good chance Dan wouldn’t want to be friends for much longer. To be perfectly honest, he wouldn’t blame him.

* * *

    Phil’s Instagram feed is covered with captions of ‘rip’ and ‘Heaven gained a new angel tonight.’ He clicks on the username linked, and it redirects him to a blog. It’s a black and white aesthetic, and from the looks of it the owner seems to update it regularly. There’s a post in the center, the writing bolded and the font big. He reads it, lips mouthing the words silently.

    Toby is the name of the boy who runs the blog, and as of four hours ago he’s dead. He was eighteen years old, his favorite pokemon was an oshawott, and he had died from drinking bleach. There’s a picture of him underneath, black hair and a friendly smile accenting the brown of his eyes.

    Suicide is something Phil had heard people talk about and read in stories. It had even been something he’d thought about once or twice in the broadest of senses, but he’d never personally known anyone who’d committed suicide. Toby wasn’t that much older than he was, and Phil wonders how someone gets to that point where it doesn’t seem like there’s any other place to find hope. There’s a link titled _writing_ , and he selects it. He taps the first story listed and begins to read.

    Toby’s a good writer. His characters feel real enough to pop off the screen, and their interactions have Phil on the edge of his seat. There’s an emotion behind each word that’s too raw to be fiction, even though with every story Phil wishes it was nothing more than make believe. No one should ever have to go through the things that Toby did, accounts of abuse, neglect, and bullying threaded throughout his writing. He’s gripped by a sudden urge to find Toby’s parents and break their noses, and he has to settle for squeezing his phone until his knuckles turn white.

    He doesn’t know he’s crying until his duvet’s wet and he can’t figure out why. He wishes he’d known about Toby sooner, read his stories and been able to talk to him, to let him know that someone cared about him even if his family didn’t. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference one way or another, but Phil makes a promise that he’s going to try and help as many people as he can. He’d learned a long time ago that life was hardly the rosy picture his parents claimed it was, but now he realizes good he has it. His parents love him, he has a stable home, an education, and plenty more things other people would kill for.

    His own problems are trivial, insignificant, and he locks them into the box far away and hides the key. Phil exits to the main page of the blogging website, creating his own account. His chest is burning again, but the sensation is so familiar that he shoves that into the box, too. Nobody’s allowed to die again. Not on his watch.

* * *

**_Quick, what’s the best way to torture someone? Injecting poison into their veins or whipping them with a blade laced with poison?_ **

_the second one. what are you doing?_

**_Procrastinating studying for a test by writing. You?_ **

_i wasn’t sure if i should be worried. i’m hiding_

**_From what?_ **

_your mum_

**_…_ **

_my little cousin. he wants me to play tag with him. save me pls_

**_I’m on my way. Be there in five. Oh wait_ **

_:( ha ha. i wish we went to the same school_

**_Me too. You’d hate my school though. I do_ **

_you’d be there_

_It would be better if you were there_

_i feel special_

**_You are_ **

_aw thanks. you coming to camp this summer?_

**_Not this year :\ You?_ **

_yeah but it won’t be the same_

**_My family’s going camping for most of the summer :(_ **

_oh god i don’t have a roommate anymore_

_**I’ll pray for you** _

_true friendship_

**_What else are friends for?_ **

_true. how’re your parents? are you doing okay?_

**_They’re not doing that well. I’m as good as usual I guess_ **

_so not very good at all?_

**_Yeah. What about you?_ **

_let me know if I can do anything to help. i’m half convinced my friends are ditching me and half convinced i’m being paranoid. it feels like duncan only want to be my friend when there’s something in it for him, otherwise he ignores me. he’s said a few things that aren’t very nice._

**_I’m sorry. It’s his loss, you deserve better friends. Don’t listen to him, I’m sure whatever he’s said isn’t true._ **

_thanks Phil._

**_I miss you. I wish you were here_ **

_i miss you too <3_

* * *

    It’s been raining for three days straight. It matches Phil’s mood, so he supposes it’s appropriate. His maths homework lays on the table in front of him, half completed and entirely bullshitted. It’s hard to focus when his mum hasn’t come back and he’s only slept for a few hours the night before. He thinks that the time wasted on memorizing useless facts would probably be spent better on solving world hunger or something, but that’s unfortunately not how the government rolls.

    Phil’s dad is an engineer, and he has a habit of getting so caught up in an idea he forgets about things like food. His mum’s a real estate agent, and everything has to be planned to the second. Sometimes he wonders how they ever fell in love in the first place. His dad is in the process of working on a bridge, leaving Phil to fend for himself.

    The extent of his cooking abilities is splashing milk onto cereal, and he guesses it’s a good thing he likes cereal. Lately Phil’s been spending a lot of time alone. In small doses solitude is nice–he’s always thought of himself as an introvert, but there’s being alone and then there’s being lonely. The latter is becoming a permanent state, and he doesn’t know how to change it.

    There’s a side effect of being Pbil that he’s had ever since he was young. It usually happens whenever he’s stressed or anxious or sad (which seems like always.) He’d used to call it ‘walking in a dream’ and thought it was part of his eye problems, but his optometrist had told him he’d never heard of anything like that before. His mum had believed him, but some days he still thinks he’s a little crazy. When it strikes everything seems muted and off, like a dream that feels real but you know isn’t.

     It’s not a particularly pleasant way to experience life, but it’s his way of convincing himself that nothing can hurt him and everything will Be Better once he wakes up. Maybe he’ll actually believe it some day.

     Phil settles back at the table, cereal crunching under his spoon. He rolls his pencil between his fingers, tapping it against the table. Discontentment makes him slam his spoon on the table and deepens the frown between his eyes. He’s lonely, bored, and would give anything to go somewhere far, far away.

     The days spent under the stars seem like years ago, and Phil would give anything to go back. Sometimes he thinks Dan has been the only thing keeping him from going completely insane. Their tradition of texting for hours after school has been ongoing for the past few months, and even though he’s miles away for those brief moments Phil doesn’t feel so alone.

    They’ve skyped a few times, but those are harder to arrange. The quality is shit–a bad internet connection and crappy webcam distorting Dan’s features, but it’s a cross Phil’s more than willing to bear.

    Sometimes they tell stories about new constellations in the stars, other times the stories are about the constellations they’ve learned to make on their wrists.

    They talk every now and again about the flat in London–about flipping for the bedrooms and assembling IKEA furniture and who gets the room with the skylight. Lighthearted conversation that borders on domestic banter. Phil’s serious about them moving in together; he knows it’s a long ways off but if Dan is genuinely interested living with his best friend seems like a pretty good reality to wake up to.

* * *

    The screen of his phone is starting to blur before his eyes. A quick glance at the time (2:30 in the morning) strengthens the thought that yeah, Phil should probably go to sleep, but he’s not remotely tired yet. He scrolls down his dash, the word ‘asexual’ catching his eye.

    He clicks on it, the app redirecting him to another page.

    “An asexual is someone who does not experience sexual attraction. Unlike celibacy, which people choose, asexuality is an intrinsic part of who someone is. There is considerable diversity among the asexual community; each asexual person experiences things like relationships, attraction, and arousal somewhat differently.”

    Due to his friendship with PJ, Phil’s expose to the LGBTQ+ community hasn’t been as limited as some. He’d accompanied his friend to a few Pride festivals, and even questioned his own attraction towards boys. That being said, until discovering the internet he hadn’t known much about sexual orientations other than gay, straight, and bisexual. He’d pretty much settled on the label of ‘pansexuality,” but as he continues to read about asexuality he finds that he’s starting to reconsider.

    Phil being on the asexual spectrum makes a lot of sense, actually. It would explain a lot of things, like how he’d never thought anyone was ‘hot’ or understood what the word meant, or how snogging people still sounded gross, or how he didn’t understand the whole craze about getting laid.

    Pansexualism had been his label of choice for several reasons. Bisexuality was something he’d thought about, but decided ultimately that he felt like pansexuality was a more accurate description. He’s heard people describe it as ‘not caring who they fuck,’ but his sexuality seems to be leaning more towards ‘not wanting to fuck anybody.’

    He reads a few more articles, ignoring the fact that he’s losing hours to sleep. Apparently, sexual attraction and romantic attraction exist on different spectrums, and there are a whole lot of other labels he’s never heard of before. The word ‘demisexual’ jumps out at him, particularly the parts about “strong emotional bonds” and “being attracted to close friends.”

    He also learns that asexuals are a minority minority group and that most people don’t think they exist. He’s always thought that was funny, the notion that people would be making stuff like this up. Who would willingly claim to be something that could result in them being abused, bullied, and even killed?

     Phil tentatively decides on the label of panromantic demisexual; from what he can gather it seems the closest orientation to how he feels. As far as he knows, his family has never had a problem with queer people, but he can’t say he’s exactly jumping at the chance to tell them. He’s barely used to the label himself, and there’s always the chance that it could change. Besides, if he was going to come out to anybody first it would probably be Dan.

    He feels a little better, a little less weird and a little less wrong. It’s not that big of a deal, he reasons. And when he is ready to come out, at least he doesn’t have to worry about rejection from his friends or family, right?

* * *

     Phil’s mum returns at 2:30 in the morning on a Tuesday. He suspects it was a ploy for her entrance to be as inconspicuous as possible, but it doesn’t work. The door screeches open, the jingling of keys following footsteps up the stairs.

     The homecomings at ungodly hours in the morning aren’t anything new, and the entire Lester family knows it. Phil’s caught his dad sitting on the porch outside, eyes glued to the starlight road. He’s stayed there until the following morning, stumbling into the kitchen with red rimmed eyes and a rumpled sweater.

     The sounds of Phil’s mum grow louder, grounding his thoughts. He knows what coming next, these have become pattern enough that he knows her next actions before they happen. Phil’s bedroom door opens a few moments later, and he holds his breath, not daring to breathe.

    He’s missed her–that’s not a question. Everything’s been wrong without her, and already he can feel some of the panic during her absence start to subside. He’s missed her, but now that he knows she’s safe and back again anger starts to steal some of the missing. He’s too tired to deal with her tonight and pretend that everything’s _fine_ , so he closes his eyes tighter and buries further under his covers. His door clicks shut, and the footsteps continue down the hall. He hears a door close, and his dad’s sleep tinged voice. Phil pulls the pillow over his ears to avoid hearing anything else.

  


    When he comes down to the kitchen the next morning his mum is sitting at the table. She raises her hand in greeting, opening her mouth to speak. He ignores her, opening the pantry and grabbing an energy bar. Normally he likes to eat a proper breakfast before school, his mum will make eggs and they’ll pretend everything’s good and he’ll go to school and they’ll do it all over again for dinner.

    “What do you want to eat?” His mum’s voice is careful, quiet, the sort of tone you’d use on a caged tiger.

     “I’m fine with this,” Phil says, brandishing the bar and trying not to sound short.

    “Don’t you want eggs? I think we have some jam if you want it on your toast.”

     “No.” The edge makes it into his voice this time.

    His mum frowns, hurt flickering behind her eyes. “Philip Michael, I don’t appreciate you using that tone with me.”

    “Sorry,” he says (except he’s not). “I have a…project I’m working on with Anna. We’re meeting early to work on it and I don’t want to be late.”

    “Okay.” Her shoulders relax, and she looks relatively appeased. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

     “Yes. Thank you.” He’s saved from further conversation by the arrival of his dad, hair damp and tie loose around his neck.

     “Ready?”

    Phil nods, giving his mum a wave and pretending he doesn’t see the kiss his dad gives his mum on his way out. He doesn’t like it when his parents fight–of course he doesn’t, but he doesn’t understand how they can keep forgiving each other only to break apart a few hours later. If this is what romantic relationships are like, maybe it’s better that Lily rebuffed him.

* * *

     Gym is surprisingly forgiving today. It would make Phil suspicious if he wasn’t too tired to complain. They have the option to join the mock football game, or sit on the swingset. Predictably, Phil opts for the later. The bottom of his trainers scuff against the pavement, and the chain releases a disturbingly loud groan as he swings higher. If he dies he’s pressing charges.

     Anna sits on the swing beside him, legs pumping as she touches the edges of the sky. Her hair is a glowing mane around her face, fanning out behind her as she falls back to earth. “See that cloud?” she asks, jerking her chin towards the sky.

    He doesn’t, but he nods anyway. “Yeah?”

    “Are you looking at the one with the lumps?”

    “They all have lumps, Anna.”

    “The one with more lumps..”

    “What about it?”

    “It’s as straight as I am,” Before Phil can even begin to process her statement she jumps from the swing. Her arms move with her body, a blur through the air as she lands gracefully a few meters away. “You coming?”

     Phil takes a breath, waiting until his swing is at it’s highest point. He jumps, his landing far clumsier than Anna’s. The wind feels like it’s been knocked out his chest, and before he can move the swing smacks him in the arse. He can’t blame Anna for laughing, and it gives his brain a few seconds to catch up. “Same.”

    “What’s the same?”

    “That cloud is as straight as I am,” Phil says, waving a hand vaguely towards the sky. “At least, I think.”

    A shit-eating grin overwhelms Anna’s face, and she holds her hand up for a high five. “Pansexual?”

     He nods. The decision to tell her is last minute, impulsive, and likely something he’ll regret when he’s not drunk on adrenaline. “And demisexual. You?”

    “Homoflexible.”

    “Cool.” This candidness that they’re using–it’s something that Phil thinks he could get used to. Anna proceeds to shove him off the hill they’re standing on, and he feels the nerves start to subside. It had helped that Anna had come out first, but maybe this whole thing didn’t have to be as big or as scary as he’d thought. Either way, it helps a little to know that someone else is going through a similar thing. “How did you know?” he asks.

     Anna smiles. “ _Star Wars_. Six year old me couldn’t decide if Leia or Han was my true love. After that I–” her words halt, and Phil follows her gaze towards Henry and Chris. They must have snuck up during their conversation, and he wonders how much they heard.

     “Are you talking about sexuality?” Henry asks, his nose wrinkling. “Being gay and stuff like that?”

    “How is that any of your business?” Anna counters, eyes flashing.

    “Whatever,” Henry mutters, rolling his eyes. “Come on, Chris.” Phil catches something mumbled about “fucking weirdos” and “always doing this”. Chris studiously avoids his gaze, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the ground as he walks away. Phil amends his previous, optimistic thought that this sexuality stuff wouldn’t be so hard. He’s pretty sure he just jinxed it.

* * *

    Phil picks Thursday as his day to come out to Dan. He thinks that this is probably something that should be done face to face or at least over Skype, but he’s drowning in last minute coursework (and he’s a coward). He sends Dan a text message, rereading it over and over again and once more just to make sure it sounds okay. It’s one thing to come out to Anna with a clumsily made joke, but it’s another to tell Dan that way. If Anna had been pan/acephobic it would’ve hurt, but he would’ve survived. He trusts that Dan isn’t that sort of person, but on the off chance that he is Phil thinks it will hurt a thousand times more.

**_I realized a few weeks ago that I’m panromantic demisexual and I’ve started to come out to a few people. Basically it means I can fall in love with anyone of any gender, but sexual feelings only happen after a strong emotional bond is formed. Even then they might not happen. It might change someday, but for now I’ve found a label that fits me._ **

    His phone chimes a few minutes later and he makes a grab for it. _congratulations on coming out! i’m really glad you found a label that fits you :) i think i’m maybe leaning towards being bi/pan but i’m not positive yet. i had a crush on a boy in my class but they recently came out as non binary so idk._

      As expected, Phil had nothing to worry about. Something warm nestles behind his chest, and the smile that overtakes his face is more than enough to block out the unexpected twinge at Dan having a crush. ** _Thank you :)) I hope everything works out for you and your crush. How’s everything with Duncan?_**

_they haven’t really changed, but i’ve started to spend time with some new people. what about pj?_

**_Yeah, they’re not doing that well. Hopefully they’ll be better next year. Any plans for the summer? I can’t believe we’re already too old for camp._ **

_i’m visiting my grandmother at the isle of man for a few weeks and my family wants to do a lot of traveling this year. you? i know–it’s weird to think it’s been as long as it has. we’ve been friends for a while._

**_Nothing really. Dad’s busy with a new job, and who knows what mum will be doing. You think we’ll ever meet up again?_ **

_definitely. even if we have to wait until we’re eighteen._

**_That’s not as far away as I think it is. I feel disturbed._ **

_savor the final years of youth and freedom before we’re stuck in a soul crushing routine of nine of five_

**_We’re going to be famous, remember?_ **

_right, my bad. we’ll be sleeping on piles of gold in our flat in london_

**_And don’t you forget it. We should take a vacation to Disney at some point._ **

_we can do that when we’re eighteen. dinner’s ready but i’ll talk to you soon_

**_Don’t die._ **

_i’ll do my best_

* * *

     Rosemary is Phil’s writing senpai. He’d started posting some of his stories online a few months ago, and casually stalked a fellow writer under the username of skeletonflowers. He had never expected her to read any of his writing, though, and when the notification pops up in the corner of his screen _skeletonflowers is now following you_ he’s sure he’s imagining things.

    He clicks on the icon and as it turns out, he’s not. skeletonflowers, writer of one of his favorite stories, is actually following him. He fights the urge to shout ‘SENPAI NOTICED ME!!!!1!’ at the top of his lungs, settling for sending Rosemary what he hopes is a mature, mutual - worthy message.

_I just saw the little notification that said that you had reblogged one of my chapters. At first I thought there had to be another account with a similar name but then I clicked on it and it was actually you. I basically almost fell out of my chair. (Or I would’ve if I’d been sitting in a chair at any rate.) I love your writing and as far as favorite authors go you’re definitely top four, so even though his whole thing might sound a little weird thank you so much. I still think I’m in shock._

     The reply comes not five minutes later: _Oh my god, this is literally the cutest message i have ever gotten i promise this isnt weird! Thank you sooo much, it means a lot, and i absolutely LOVE your story! Its so good and wonderful and I really hope you continue writing because you are VERY VERY good at it!!!!_

    Phil’s pretty sure he’s redder than a tomato, but somehow he can’t quite bring himself to care. The only thing that could possibly make this better would be to actually write a story with Rosemary, so he seizes on the rare “fuck it” moment and asks. _I was wondering if you would ever be interested in writing a collab fic at some point? I know things are a stressed as it is with grades and finals at the moment, so if you are up for it I’m fairly flexible for whenever works best for you. Please don’t feel like you have to at all, I’ll understand and be fine either way but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask, and I wish you luck with any exams you have coming up soon._

    Rosemary answers quickly, thankfully putting him out of his misery. _Yes of course, im always open to cowriting with people and it would be such a pleasure to work with you ^_^ did you have any idea what you wanted to write about? Like a general story line? I havent cowritten in years xD!_

    Euphoria drags him down and lifts him up again, and Phil can’t stop smiling. If this is what drugs feel like, he can imagine why people get high. He opens his text messages and shoots Dan a message about collaborating with Rosemary. It’s the sort of news that demands to be shared, and Dan is just the sort of person it should be shared with.

* * *

   Phil is fourteen before he realizes that maybe he’s more than a little bit in love with Dan Howell. He tries to remember, to pinpoint when and what brought about such a revelation. He fails, but that’s not for lack of effort. There’s something about Dan that makes him want to wrap the boy in bubble wrap and protect him from anything and everything evil in the world, and he’s the only person Phil can imagine living with someday.

    It’s one of those things that once he realizes it he can’t figure out how he didn’t realize it sooner. In his defense, though, Dan is confusing. Sometimes Phil wants to take him out for coffee in a ‘we’re best friends no homo’ way (except he kind of wants to hold his hand so maybe a little homo,) but other times he wants to do it in a ‘you’re my boyfriend I love you way.’ Mostly though he just wants to be with Dan and maybe cuddle and watch a few movies and not go anywhere or have anyone else with them.  Love, he decides, is confusing.

    At least it’s not a particularly surprising revelation, Dan’s a good listener and an even better friend, and he’s sort of become Phil’s main reason for staying An Alive Human being.

    He doesn’t tell him any of those things of course–fuck no. If it is romantic attraction he’s feeling (and that’s a big ‘if’) and if by some miracle Dan returns these feelings, (an even bigger ‘if’) they’re only fourteen and live far enough apart that visits are few and far between. A romantic relationship would never work, and he’s an idiot for even thinking about it.

    Besides, he’s pretty sure asexuality isn’t anything most people would actively seek out in a relationship. From what little he can tell, most of his classmates are all over each other and the idea of sex, and Phil’s not about to trap someone he cares about in a sexless relationship.

    He contemplates telling Dan, but there are about infinity negative outcomes and one positive. He tried, once. He worked his way up to it, the confession almost written across his screen but Dan chose that moment to fall asleep. Phil takes it like the warning from the universe it is–don’t fuck up the one good thing you have left.

    Phil is maybe a little in love with his best friend, but there’s nothing he can do about it so he shoves it far, far away into the back of his mind and slams the lid.

* * *

    The Skype call has been going for three and a half hours. Phil’s busy taking inventory for the upcoming school year, and Dan doodles on the other end of the call. They’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm, occasionally swapping a comment but content to work in silence.

    “You think it’ll be like this when we move in together?” Phil asks absently. He rereads the line he’s just written–part of the story with Rosemary, and deletes the whole paragraph. Too much purple prose.

    “Yeah,” Dan says thoughtfully. “Doing separate things but being together.”

    Phil replaces the words _abnormally strange_ with _weird_. Less redundant. “What’s your decorating style?” he asks. It’s an odd question, and completely off topic. “Are we going to have a hunger games over the color of the floors?”

    “I like random things,” Dan answers. “Little knickknacks in places around the house.”

    “Rainbow dining room chairs,” Phil agrees. “And house plants.”

    “House plants?”

    “I used to want to live in the middle of the jungle until I realized there wouldn’t be any wifi. This is the next best thing.”

    “If they die it’s your fault.”

    “Noted,” Phil says. “You think I’ll go to hell if that happens? Neglect of living organisms–that’s got to be a rule somewhere?”

     “It doesn’t matter either way,” Dan shrugs. “I told you I’d rescue you, remember?” Phil unsuccessfully tries to hide his smile by messing with his fringe. Dan pouts, watching the movement with a look that can only be described as longing. “You have really nice hair,” he says. “I’m jealous. It’s quite blocky, I get mine wet and I look like a fucking hobbit.”

     “Thank you, and I like hobbit hair. Frodo Baggins had some nice curls,” Phil says. Dan grins, dimples creasing his cheeks. “You have a really nice smile,” Phil blurts before he can stop himself.

     Thankfully, Dan doesn’t seem to think the compliment is anything out of the ordinary. “Thanks. How’s the story going?”

    Phil wrinkles his nose. “It’s going. Not well, but it’s going. What about your art?”

    “Eh.” Dan holds his picture up–an incredibly lifelike recreation of the plant on the windowsill behind him.

    “That’s amazing,” Phil says. He pulls the laptop closer, squinting. “A little blurry because of the camera, but still amazing.”

    A fond smile tugs at the corner of Dan’s mouth as he sets the drawing back on the desk. “Can I ask you a question?” he asks.

    “Of course.”

    “You know how I told you my parents are divorced?” Phil nods. “My mum has this boyfriend that’s kind of a dick and he’s moved in with us. They’ve broken up and gotten back together quite a few times, and I’m worried it’ll happen again. We don’t get along very well either, one of the last times he was here my anxiety and self harm were pretty bad.” Dan inhales a shaking breath, eyes drifting away from Phil’s face and towards the ceiling. “What do you think I should do?”

    Phil bites his lip, watching Dan carefully. He’s pretty shit at giving advice, Lia had asked him for tips on asking out Henry and it had ended in a broken nose. This was Dan though, the same person who had helped him deal with school and his parents arguing and everything in between. “Have you tried talking to her about it?”

    “Yeah.”

    “I would try talking to her one more time,” Phil says. “Just tell her what you told me; that you’re worried about her and you just want her to be happy. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to help, hitchhiking to your house and beating him up is always an option too.”

    “Thank you Phil, I think I will. I guess it can’t hurt anything..” Dan’s expression is trusting, far more trusting than Phil thinks he deserves.

    “You’re welcome.”

    Dan’s phone buzzes, and he picks it up, brow furrowing. He shoots Phil an apologetic glance. “I have to go, sorry. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

    “Good luck,” Phil says. He keeps his eyes fixed on Dan until the camera cuts out, sending a silent prayer to whatever deity exists that everything works out.

  


    It doesn’t. Dan texts him a few hours later and tells him that his attempt at a conversation ended in another fight. He doesn’t say much after that, except thank you and that it’s not Phil’s fault. Phil can’t quite believe him. After everything Dan’s done the one time he needs Phil’s help he fucks it up. If there was any further proof that a relationship would never work, this is it. Dan deserves someone a million times better, who can give one simple piece of advice without everything going to hell.

    Guilt festers in his brain and swallows the rest of his thoughts whole. He knows it’s irrational, but it seems like all he ever does it let down the people he cares about. So he does the only, desperate, and selfish thing he can think of and tells Rosemary. She’s sympathetic, and repeats Dan’s words that it’s not his fault. She also says that he should tell Dan how he feels about him, and tells him the story about her first long distance relationship and how even though they broke up they’re still friends.

    He can’t quite believe her either and he doesn’t tell Dan, but he thanks her anyway. Instead, he crams everything deeper into the box and adds duct tape for good measure. If he keeps doing it, he can almost fool himself that it was all just a bad dream. Besides, school is starting soon, and it’s exactly the kind of distraction he needs.


End file.
